


An Awful Hunger

by kingwellsjaha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: (yes you read right), Cannibalism as a Metaphor, Discussions of Cannibalism, Gen, Hansel and Gretel Elements, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, Re-interpretation of Hänsel and Gretel, the opposite of a good time, worst airbnb ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingwellsjaha/pseuds/kingwellsjaha
Summary: “Let me tell you a story,” the witch says and bites into a chicken leg. The juice drips down her mouth painting it brown and red. Ubbe can do nothing but watch from his cage. He hasn’t eaten in weeks.aka Ubbe is at the mercy of an all powerful witch and is not having a good time.
Relationships: Margrethe/ Ubbe (mentioned), Torvi/Ubbe (mentioned)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	An Awful Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for [tephi191's Dark Disney and other Fairytales Challenge](https://tephi101.tumblr.com/post/189115526650/dark-disney-and-other-fairy-tales-writing). The idea was to take a fairytale and make it as dark as possible. I'm not quite sure that i succeeded given that 'Hänsel and Gretel' is a very dark story to begin with. The warnings in the tags do apply.

(a dream, a nightmare, a fairytale or another plane of existence entirely) 

_“Let me tell you a story,” the witch says and bites into a chicken leg. The juice drips down her mouth painting it brown and red. Ubbe can do nothing but watch from his cage. He hasn’t eaten in weeks._

* * *

First there had been a forest, thick and unruly unlike anything he had ever seen. He had wandered without any sense of direction until he grew hungry and exhausted.

Then there had been bread crumbs; small pieces scattered across the place. In the beginning they were smaller than his fingers, then they grew bigger than his head. He had eaten them all following the trail, until he came to a clearing _—_ the only clearing he had seen in this forest.

And in the clearing was a house and the house was made out of bread.

He should’ve asked, but he was still so hungry, so he started to eat. That’s when the witch came disguised as a beautiful young woman.

* * *

_"There once were two siblings, a girl and a boy, they lived on the outskirts of a big forest with their parents, who loved them with all their heart, but after one hard winter they couldn’t provide for them any longer and so they took them to the middle of the forest and abandoned them there.”_

* * *

The witch always eats: gigot, bore, bread, sweets, cakes filled with marmalade dripping in honey, dough fried in lard. The fat covers her face and hands, bread crumbs are all over her clothes. She eats as an old woman with wrinkles and long white hair, as a boy with hair the color of straw and the young woman who had tempted him in the first place with hair the color of gold and eyes as light and grey as silver. 

Ubbe sits in the cage and watches. Since the first night she has not offered him any food and so he has started to hunger. His mouth waters when he watches her eat, when the juice spills on the ground and he wishes he could lick it off the floor. This hunger is foreign to him. Someone once told him about it, how masters let their thralls starve until they grow restless. _People grow mad when they are hungry_ , that person had said. _Everything disappears until there is only hunger left_.

He understands it now trapped in this cage. How everything gets consumed by hunger, until the walls disappear and every smell makes him desperate and nauseous. There is no sane judgment to make in this state. Only one imperative in his head: _eat, eat, eat_.

He has gone from asking questions to screaming obscenities. The witch doesn’t answer either way. Sometimes she looks amused, although it is possible that he is just imagining it. When you grow hungry reality starts to warp in on itself. In the beginning when he still had the energy he had asked questions. Who was she _—_ An ogre, a giantess, a vengeful god? Then he had demanded to know where he was. _I am the son of Ragnar Lothbrok_ , he had explained, but that had not worked either. His title has no worth here in the confines of this house. This is the land of the witch and her hunger. Foolishly he had continued for a while. _Where am I?_ _Is this still Midgard?_ No answer just a smile and a head shake, like a mother disappointed in her child.

When the hunger had come, his demands turned into bargains. _I have power where I’m from. I am the consultant of a king and led his army_. The witch had reacted the least to these. He had made her offering after offering and all she had done was eat.

One night, when he had felt like the hunger was eating him up from inside, he had broken down and asked the gods for an answer. _Why am I here?_ He asked into the silence. _What have I done to deserve this punishment?_

The witch had smiled and turned to him, her eyes cat like. _Now that is an interesting question._

* * *

_“The girl and the boy tried to find their way back to the hut they lived in, but they got even more lost in the forest. They wandered around growing hungry, searching for a place to stay and something to eat. And then they stumbled across a small house made out of bread. They probably should’ve asked, but they were starving and so they started to eat it. They ate almost the entire roof before a woman came out of the house. She was a powerful witch. The children were scared, but the witch was kind, she let them stay, washed them, gave them a place to sleep and most importantly she fed them. She fed them until they grew thick and juicy.”_

* * *

Only in his dreams he can escape the hunger. Another form of torture awaits him instead. Ir always starts the same. He wakes up in his house back in Kattegat, before they fled to the British isles, before they even left to fight Ivar. It’s always late at night and the fire is burning low.

She’s always there _—_ by the fireplace watching the flames or next to him with her cheek pressed against his chest. He wants to push her away and leave, but even in his dreams he seems to be caged to the bed and has to listen to her stories. He wonders which god came up with this cruel punishment, if it’s the old ones or maybe the new one that he chose, cause no tale ever had prepared him for this insanity.

Some of her talk feels familiar as if she had told it to him before. _My mother chose my name; it’s from the place she’s from. I never got to ask her what it meant_. Some talk is about her ambition and wishes, talk about Lagertha or Torvi and what he dislikes most of all talk about his brother. _He strangled me the first night, did you know that? I would’ve almost died. He crawled into my bed before he left with your father._ He doesn’t wish to know. He wants her to stop, but his mouth is locked and his hands bound to the bed.

This continued assault makes him angry and whenever he wakes with this anger, he feels the energy to tear the witch in half. Though it quickly subsides when the hunger sets in.

There is the other side of the dreams: the absence of hunger. His belly is full there and every thought of it is gone as if he has never felt it. It’s a double edged sword. In his dreams he is angry and wants to be gone. There is a relief in the first seconds after his wake too, when he revels in his escape. Throughout the day, though with a growling stomach, he starts to miss it. Anger is a privilege too, he comes to realize, to rise in it and feel strong. He’s angry still, but there is no punch to it, only withering and profanities.

* * *

“ _One day the witch sent the girl to pick mushrooms in the forest. When the girl came back, her brother had disappeared. When asked where he had gone, the witch smiled and led her to the table, where a feast had been prepared. The girl sat down and asked again. where her brother was. The witch answered, he will come to us when we have eaten._ ”

“ _And so the girl ate what the witch offered her. Ate the back, ate the belly. Sometimes she stopped and asked where her brother was, and the witch ushered her on to eat. When they had finished and the girl felt like she would burst, her brother had still not appeared. Confused she turned to the witch and asked again where he was. The witch had promised after all that he would be there by the end._ ”

“ _The witch leaned closer and touched her hand. But don’t you see my child? He is inside you now. The girl did not understand. What do you mean-_ ”

“ **Stop it! Stop with your twisted tale. I am not scared of you. I have led armies and fought against my own brothers. Your words do nothing but disgust me.** ”

“ _Then why do you shake? Why do you wither? What is it that you fear?_ ”

“ _You’re not the first one to get lost. I have seen many people stumble upon this little house and all hungry like you. They all come with their sad tales of unfair spouses and bratty children. And all they do is eat, eat, eat. They devour the house and the dinner I prepared, but most importantly they devour life, they devour love._ ”

“ _Isn’t this what you did with that wife of yours? You fattened her, ate her and when you had enough you left her for your brothers to pick the bones dry. And now you have moved on to a new one to devour. No remorse, no understanding of what you have done. Just selfish righteousness. Someday you will have children and you will devour them all the same and call it love._ ”

“ _Be disgusted however you like, but we are not so different, Ubbe Ragnarson, don’t pretend otherwise._ ”

* * *

One day the hunger takes his pride. _Please_ , he begs, _give me something to eat I am starving_.

The witch looks up from her plate with a rib still in hand. She considers his words for a moment, then a cruel smile forms on her face. She drops the rib and gets up approaching him like a predator its prey. _I can be generous, if you say your wife’s name._

He doesn’t understand what game she’s playing. Her name is almost on his lips, when she stops him with a shake of her head. _The wife you finished eating._ Ubbe watches her round face. She could almost pass for a kind old woman, if it were not for the eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. It’s stupid to hold onto his pride. He shouldn’t do it. There isn’t much left of him anyway and the hunger will surely take it from him soon. So why hold on? He doesn’t know, but instead he grinds his teeth and looks back into the golden eyes of the witch. He might be the hunger’s slave, but not hers.

The witch laughs and steps closer to his cage. She leans down to inspect him further. _Is your silence an emission of guilt or anger, I wonder?_

_I’m not guilty._

The witch reaches out her hand through the bars and touches his forearm. _Every life we devour becomes one with us. It’s a gift of sorts, but I assume you don’t like it much. I can feel her inside of you, her youth, her strength, her lust. I can see it in your eyes._

Her hand wraps around his arm and when she squeezes him, he feels warmth moving from him to her. The wrinkly hand turns smooth, then her arm. Slowly her face rearranges itself. The grey hair turns gold silver; the eyes grow big and blue. By the end, his first wife stands before him with a questioning look and rosy cheeks. The witch starts to laugh at his horror, but it is her laugh ringing in his ears. _Why are you so scared? Is this not what you wanted? All of her youth and beauty for you? It’s in you now and it will never go away. We take them with us. It’s a blessing and a curse._

He wants to push her away, wants it to stop, but her grip is stronger and then she stops as if she has heard something. Her hand holds him even tighter. More warmth is exchanged from him to her. The changes this time are subtler. The hair is the same color. The eyes remain blue. It’s the nose that grows smaller and eagle like. The eyebrows turn whiter. By the end his wife stands there with an amused cruel smile and he lashes out, he has to. The witch’s smile on her face is unbearable. His arm goes through the bars and straight for the neck. 

The witch chokes and his wife disappears. A kaleidoscope of facial features pass over her face. He can see his first wife, the boy, the witch, but even faces he has never seen before: an old man with a thick greying beard, a young man who reminds him of Alfred, a man with a quizzical stare, until its only the young woman’s face with eyes wide open and her lips gasping for air. They are pink and plush, delicious looking. A smile appears on her face, as she notices his weakness. Her hand strokes his arm gently. _Do you want to devour me too?_

* * *

“ **What’s your name?** ” 

The old witch starts to giggle, a girly innocent giggle. “ _I never finished my story._ ”

_“The girl afterwards tried to distance herself from the witch. She barely ate and disappeared into the forest searching for home, only to come back again. It made the witch sad. And one night, she caged the girl, but the girl still refused to eat. She grew sickly thin again. And so the witch couldn’t wait and readied the oven.”_

The witch stops. Her expression grows sad. Her face turns into the face of the young woman. _“It’s Margarete, but they used to call me Gretel.”_

* * *

There will be a feast soon.

The witch puts on the oven. She sweeps the floor and changes the carpets. He almost expects guests to come, but by the end there is only one plate on the table. Then she takes a bath in the middle of the room. He averts his eyes the young woman strips of her clothes and steps into the bathtub.

This night he had found her by the fireplace in Kattegat instead of his wife. She had said nothing just stared at the flames. He had thought about begging for forgiveness, to go on his knees with raised hands and desperation in his eyes, but he knows it wouldn’t move her. She’s not like the Christian God. There is no sin committed that he has to repent. They are both guilty, both monstrous.

The last time someone was on their knees begging to be let free, he had not listened either. He had smiled and turned his back.

When the witch is done, she covers herself in simple white cloth. Her blonde hair is turned into a simple long braid. No gold or gems adorn her face. With a smile she opens his cage. Her milky white hand reaches out to grab his and she pulls him forward onto his legs. He stumbles, having almost forgotten how to use them. How long has he been here? Time grows so slow when one is hungry.

Gently she guides him to the oven with a raised chin and smile on her face. She reminds him of his mother during celebrations just before she prepared a sacrifice. He wonders what she would think of him now. If she can forgive him for abandoning her.

The witch steps to the oven and opens its doors. It fits him perfectly. The heat hits his face and he enjoys it while he can. At least it’s about to be over now. He is so tired of feeling hungry. The witch turns to him and her expression is gentle and kind. There is no hatred or taunt. This close she looks human. A girl lost in the woods just like him. She takes his hand again and pulls him towards the heat. He takes the first step, but then he hesitates.

The resilience surprises him. To still find a will to survive deep inside of him despite his hunger. He withstands her hands with the last strength he has. The witch furrows her brow and pulls harder. It happens within seconds: He shakes her off. He pushes her backwards into the oven. He understands that wanting to live and wanting to eat is the same thing. His first wife had made that connection a long time ago, when her master had starved her.

The oven is too big for the witch’s small frame. A smile appears on her lips turning into laughter. He jumps towards the oven door and closes it behind her.

The laughter turns into something unintelligible. It could be screaming or cries of agony or laughter still. He leans against the door afraid she will jump out. It continues, echoing across the small house until his body starts to shake and he has to cover his ears from the sound. She laughs for a long time and then without warning it turns deadly silent. He can only hear his shallow breathing. He needs to get out. On wobbly feet he moves to the door.

Outside greets him the silent forest. He waits. For a sign, a god to tell him that it’s over. Because it surely has to stop now. Whatever trial the gods have put him through; it’s over. The witch is defeated. He can go home. This nightmare has an end.

But nothing happens. He still stands in the middle of an unruly forest, miles away from everything with no wind, no birds, no bore. Only his hunger remains _—_ this all consuming and powerful hunger.

As he turns to the house, he notices that all the bread is gone.

* * *

_When the witch had died, the girl did what she had been taught: She ate._

**Author's Note:**

> I was myself surprised to realize that Gretel is a short form for Margarete (pronounced Mar-ga-re-te). It fit too perfectly not to use it.
> 
> as per usual: thoughts? feelings? concerned remarks? drop them below!


End file.
